Toots was on her third glass of wine and on page four of the issue she was reading before she realized she couldn’t remember what she’d just read. What was wrong with her? Nothing ever interfered with reading her beloved tabloids. Until now. She closed her eyes and tried to figure out what it was that was interfering with her universe.
Something was lurking somewhere inside her. She’d already scratched Leland. Abby was okay, at least for the moment. Did she feel rudderless? Did she need a man in residence? Hell no, she didn’t. Then what was bothering her? The nine days of mourning she allowed herself? She snorted. Any woman worth her salt could get through nine days of mourning by going out to breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. Fit in a little shopping, and she’d be good to go.
By the fourth glass of wine, Toots decided she needed…no, she didn’t need, she wanted to stir up some trouble. She needed some excitement in her life. Her thoughts carried her back in time to when she was young and full of piss and vinegar with her friends. Friends she hadn’t seen near enough throughout the past twenty years. They e-mailed, called, and sent Christmas cards, but life got in the way sometimes. Maybe it was time to call all of them and invite them for a visit. They were, after all, Abby’s godmothers. Everyone thought it strange that her daughter had three godmothers. Especially that shithead, Leland. She didn’t find it strange at all. Neither did her friends.
Toots peered into the wine bottle. Empty! She climbed out of the tub, dried off with a towel the size of a tent, powdered herself, slipped into a black nightgown—because she was in mourning—and tottered out to the mini-office in her bedroom. It wasn’t really an office, just a little table where she sat to write notes to people she didn’t give two shits about, pay a few bills that she didn’t want her business manager to know about, and use her laptop to check out TMZ and Page Six several times a day.
Toots fired up her laptop and proceeded to type an e-mail to her friend Mavis, who lived in Maine in a little clapboard house near the ocean.
“I want you to come for a visit, Mavis. You were always the one with the ideas. How soon can you get here? By the way, I just buried Leland today, and I’m in a funk.”
Five minutes later, the laptop pinged receipt of a return e-mail.
“Sorry, Toots, I can’t afford a trip like that. I can’t leave Coco, my dog. She’s really my only friend these days. I’m sorry your dog Leland died. I didn’t even know you had a dog. It’s terrible when your beloved pet dies. Sorry, Toots, I’d love to see you, but my pension just won’t cover a trip at this time.”
Toots blinked. How weird that Mavis thought Leland was a dog. She wondered why she thought that, then it dawned on her what her old friend meant.
She hit the REPLY button.
“I’ll send a first-class ticket for you and Coco. Leland was my husband.”
The next response from Mavis was: “LOL, I forgot you married again. Too bad, too sad. You’ll get over it, Toots, you always do. I’ll be happy to accept your tickets and look forward to seeing you. It’s been way too long. Are the others coming, too?”
Toots fired back, “I’m working on it now. More tomorrow.”
Toots’s next e-mail was to Sophie, who’d married a philanderer, now with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, according to Sophie’s latest e-mail. It was a known fact among the foursome that Sophie hated her husband and was only sort of/more or less taking care of him because of the five-million-dollar insurance policy she’d taken out on him some years ago. “I’m sticking around long enough to collect, then I’m outta here,” she’d said.
“Sophie, I’m e-mailing you to invite you for a visit. I’m willing to send you a ticket if you can clear your calendar. It’s been way too long since we’ve seen each other. I have something in mind that I think you and the others will find interesting. It will be like old times.”
Sophie’s response came through so quickly that Toots was surprised. “I can’t leave him here alone. This old bird is taking way too long to die. I didn’t pay that mountain of premiums all these years to get aced out of the payoff. Besides, I want him to sweat every day and wonder if I’m going to give him his meds and feed him. Which, of course, I do. What kind of person would I be not to do that?”
Well, Toots decided, she could certainly relate to that. “Not to worry, Sophie. I’ll get you a nurse 24/7 for your husband. So you’ll come, then? By the way, I buried Leland today.”
Sophie shot back. “Okay, I’ll clear my schedule that’s not really a schedule. Just let me know when my departure date is. Who is Leland?”
Toots responded to her e-mail. “I’ll get back to you on the date. Leland was my husband. I have to do that ten-day mourning thing. Nine days if you count today. I am definitely counting today. You can watch me and know what it’s like, so you’ll know how to behave when that dud you married bites the dust. Mourning is tricky. You have to do it just right, or people will talk about you.”
“What number is Leland?” Sophie queried. “I think you’ve been married more times than Elizabeth Taylor.”
Toots quickly replied, “Leland was number 8, and I am never getting married again. More tomorrow. I have to e-mail Ida now. She’s going to be tough. Remember how we hated each other and pretended we didn’t? I think she’s still ticked off that I married the guy she wanted. She’d be a widow now if I hadn’t. I tried to tell her he was a big nothing, but he did have all that money.”
Toots didn’t bother waiting for a response before she e-mailed Ida. She got right to the point. “Ida, it’s Toots. I’m e-mailing you to invite you for a visit. Mavis and Sophie have agreed to come, and it will be like old times. I have this plan, Ida, and I want to involve all of us in it. I hope you aren’t still holding a grudge against me. It’s time for us to forget about all that old silly stuff. Believe it or not, I did you a favor by stealing whatever his name was. Even his money didn’t make up for how boring he was. But he was gentle and considerate. So, what do you think? By the way, I buried Leland today. I’m in mourning, have nine days to go.”
Ida’s response was short and curt. “Count me in. Tell me when you want me to arrive. Oh, boo hoo about Leland.”
Toots rubbed her hands together and closed her laptop. She was on a roll, she could feel it. Though what this big plan was, she hadn’t a clue just yet. She’d think of something. She always did.
Deadline
Prologue
“How can we go to the governor’s mansionif it no longer exists?” Mavis asked Sophie, as the Citation X gently lifted off the runway at LAX. “I read about it on the Internet this morning, when I was checking my Web site.” Mavis’s line of funeral attire, GOOD MOURNING, had blossomed almost overnight since its inception, but she continued to monitor each individual order received from her Web site. Now more than ever, she lived on the Internet.
Sophie rolled her chestnut eyes upward, showing only the milky-colored whites. “It still exists; it’s just that it’s more of a tourist attraction these days. Ronald Reagan was the last governor who lived there. The gov-er-na-tor stays at the Sterling Hotel, which is where we will be staying for the next few days or however long it takes to assist the first lady of California with her nightmares.” A slight smile lifting the edge of her full lips, Sophie mimicked the instantly recognizable accent for which the famous former actor turned governor was so well-known.
“Stop being so damn dramatic. You may be a drama queen, but you’re not an actress,” Toots called out from the seat in front of Sophie and Mavis.
“I didn’t say I was,” Sophie tossed back.
“Stop!” Ida intervened. “I don’t want to hear any smart comments today. I’ve about had it listening to the two of you squabble.”
Laughter bubbled throughout the private jet.
When the four women had boarded the luxury jet, all of them agreed that California’s governor flew in style. The cabin was decked out in creamy leather reclining seats, solid cherry cabinetry, and all the latest gad
gets, including an Apple iPad2 equipped with high-speed Internet, and built-in telephones, just in case the governor had to make a telephone call and was unable to move about the plane. All four of them: Teresa “Toots” Amelia Loudenberry, Sophie Manchester, Ida McGullicutty, and Mavis Hanover, the last three being Toots’s daughter Abby’s godmothers, were en route to Sacramento, the state capital. Sophie, in her new-found celebrity, was slated to perform her magic, said magic consisting of holding a séance for the Peabody-and Emmy-award-winning first lady, who had begun to be plagued with nightmares about her famous uncle, John F. Kennedy, the thirty-fifth president of the United States, who was assassinated when she was eight years old. When she’d heard of Sophie’s success in abolishing ghosts and other unworldly beings, she’d personally called to ask for her assistance.
“Oh hush, Ida! If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask.” Sophie smirked. “And I really, really do not.”
There was a long-standing war of sorts between Sophie and Ida. Though neither would ever voluntarily admit it, if pressured, both would confess to loving the other. It was just that they didn’t like each other.
“Now now, girls, let’s not fuss. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, and I, for one, want to relax before we’re introduced to California’s first couple. I don’t want to appear haggard,” Toots explained.
Mavis, the most upbeat and positive of the group, said softly, “Oh, Toots dear, you could never look haggard! I believe you’re the most gorgeous woman I know.”
Toots smiled at Mavis. “You are too kind, but thank you anyway.” Ida muttered something decidedly unkind.
As usual, Sophie and Toots ignored her when she mouthed off.
“Hey, this flight might not be as long as you think. Listen to this,” Sophie said, holding up the brochure she had removed from her seat pocket. “The Citation X can fly through a half dozen time zones before refueling, and it has a Rolls-Royce engine. Whew! This is some aircraft.”
Ida spoke up. “That is good news. The less time I’ll have to listen to you three run your filthy mouths, the happier I’ll be.”
Sophie raised her hand above her head so Ida could see her middle finger standing proud and tall. “And it says that the bathroom is marble.”
Coco, Mavis’s spoiled female Chihuahua, growled from her royal seat, aka Mavis’s lap. “Ida, I believe you’ve upset Coco. She knows full well that I don’t say nasty things the way the rest of you do.” Mavis grinned, before adding, “Or at least not nearly as often.”
It was hard to imagine the woman Mavis had been just two short years ago. A retired English teacher and widow for seventeen years, she’d lived in a little clapboard house near the ocean in Maine before Toots had e-mailed her and invited her to Charleston, South Carolina, Toots’s home town. She’d been a heart attack waiting to happen when Toots rescued her, and, yes, that was exactly what Toots had done, rescued her. If she hadn’t, Mavis would probably be six feet under this very moment. Under the guidance provided by Toots and a personal trainer, Mavis lost over one hundred pounds and exercised daily as though her life depended on it, which it almost undoubtedly likely did.
Ida, a native New Yorker high-society snob, had been a complete and total nutcase. Recently widowed when Toots contacted her inviting her to join her in Charleston, the former elegant photographer suffered with OCD, obsessive-compulsive disorder, a debilitating fixation on germs. Thomas, her spouse of more than thirty years, was thought to have died from the bacterium, e-coli found in a tainted piece of meat Ida had purchased from her favorite butcher shop. Circumstances being what they were, Ida’s psychological disorder had caused her to become a total shut-in. Her world of Clorox and sanitizing had quickly ended when Toots sent her to a famous doctor in California who specialized in treating her disorder. Not only had she been cured of her compulsion in a matter of weeks, but she became romantically involved with her savior, who turned out to be no doctor at all but an imposter. He’d almost bilked Ida out of $3 million to boot. To see her now, minus her cleaning kit, was a true miracle.
Sophie, also a native New Yorker, an RN and a former pediatric nurse, had been recently widowed as well. Walter, her abusive alcoholic husband, died from cirrhosis of the liver. No big surprise there. Planning ahead and looking forward to the day he died, Sophie had taken out a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on him before it was too late and was now quite comfortable. Toots, an expert at planning funerals, having had a great deal of practice over the years, or events as she liked to think of them, helped Sophie arrange a quick event for Walter. Toots sang an off-key, “Ave Maria,” they said their Hail Mary’s, baked Walter’s remains, then spent the rest of the day shopping before jetting back to Los Angeles, where Toots had fulfilled a secret lifelong dream when she purchased The Informer, a tabloid newspaper where her daughter, Abby, was working as a reporter.
Two years later Abby, now editor-in-chief of the tabloid, still had no clue her mother was the real power behind LAT Enterprises, the corporation that owned the paper. Abby seemed content to accept her new bosses’ preference for communication—e-mail and FedEx—so until Toots had a darn good reason, she had no intention of revealing her own involvement with the corporate owner of The Informer to Abby.
Knowing she’d have to stay in close contact with her daughter, Toots purchased a beautiful three-story hillside minimansion in Malibu. It had been inhabited by a former pop star, whose idea of decorating was hot pink and purple. One of the guest bathrooms actually had a mirror in the shape of a guitar with blue rhinestones on the baseboards. Toots guessed this was a sad tribute to the King himself, dearly departed Elvis.
Prior to the pop star, the house had belonged to Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball. Toots, along with her dear friends, had moved into the Malibu beach house while it was being remodeled. It was during the remodeling that Toots experienced a paranormal phenomenon in her own bedroom.
She remembered that night as being the most frightening of her life.
Awakened by a pounding heart and an eerie chill in the horrid purple bedroom she’d referred to as a hooker haven and paralyzed by a fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced, Toots had been unable to move from her bed. Next, still had difficulties believing this, what seemed to be four clouds, in an eerie, translucent shade of blue, clustered around her bed. Inside the cloudlike puffs were faces. Yes, she knew how insane it sounded, but she’d seen it with her own two eyes and it was what it was. Afterward, she remembered thinking she could’ve had hallucinations from a bad case of indigestion or, perish the thought, even a brain tumor. She had read somewhere about tumors on the brain causing pressure that gave rise to hallucinations. But it had been nothing like that at all.
Recalling the faces, she realized that they were familiar to her, but in her traumatized state, she was unable to identify them. In a matter of seconds, the foglike clouds disappeared. Scared and shaken, she’d told Sophie what she’d experienced. Having had a lifelong interest in the paranormal, Sophie hadn’t been shocked when Toots told her what had happened. Of course, now they knew that the remodeling had stirred up the spirits of famous movie moguls Aaron Spelling and Bing Crosby, who in life had an ongoing feud over a piece of land. Sophie had suggested a séance. Successful in her attempts to contact and communicate with the dead, Sophie had become a celebrity in the world of paranormal events and ghosts. So there they were, flying in a private jet on their way to the governor’s mansion to assist California’s first lady with her recurring nightmares.
Toots reclined in the luxurious leather seat, content with her life and that of Abby’s three godmothers. Since the girls had temporarily relocated to California and South Carolina—temporarily being two years—their lives as senior citizens had been one big roller-coaster ride. A few rough spots along the way, but thrilling nonetheless.
Toots glanced at each of her friends, who were really more like sisters. Abby’s three godmothers were quiet, each lost in her own private world. They had been friends for more than fif
ty years. She treasured her friendship with each woman. Unique and individual in their own right, Toots could only hope they’d have another fifty years together.
The copilot’s deep voice came over the intercom, announcing they were about to begin their descent into Sacramento International Airport. “Ladies, I’m going to have to ask you all to buckle up. The ceiling is down to two hundred feet with some fog and light rain. We’ll be making an ILS approach, so it could get bumpy. Please secure any open containers and that little dog.”
Ida, an uncomfortable flier on a good day, turned ten shades of white. “What does that mean? I knew I should’ve taken a commercial flight. I hate these small planes.”
“Private jets have the same stupid-ass rules as the commercial airlines,” Sophie said as she adjusted her seat belt.
Mavis put Coco in her carrier and placed it beneath the seat. The little pooch growled, then went into a series of earsplitting barks before settling down. “She just hates that crate, but we have to follow the rules. They’re for our own protection,” Mavis said, darting a glance at Sophie.
“Oh crap, Mavis, I know that, I just like to complain,” Sophie added. “At least we didn’t have to go through security and get felt off. I bet Ida wouldn’t mind going through security, would you?” Sophie said, trying to distract Ida.
When Ida didn’t respond to her teasing, Sophie continued. “Ida, clear something up for me. Is it felt off or felt up? I’ve heard both, but I’m not sure which one to use.”
Toots cackled, Mavis smiled, and Ida answered Sophie, her voice trembling with fear. “Either. Personally, I like to think of it as getting ‘felt off.’ I’m surprised at you Sophie, with your infinite well of useless information that you would even ask such a question.” To her credit, Ida didn’t react to Sophie’s tormenting her as she would have a year ago. She was learning to be a true Southern smart-ass.
Mr. And Miss Anonymous Page 30